


How to Flirt (Five Steps)

by wrabbit



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: 5 Things, Comment Fic, Community: shkinkmeme, Formerly Anonymous, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrabbit/pseuds/wrabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes follows five ostensibly simple steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Flirt (Five Steps)

**Author's Note:**

> Criticism: Welcome

**1\. Smile**

"Holmes."

"Yes, Watson?"

"Are you...," he sighed and lowered his novel. "What are you doing, Holmes?"

Holmes was smiling at him from his position on the couch, eyes cast to watch him at his desk and tapping his fingers on his breastbone as if in a delirium. He took on a bewildered expression for a moment that had Watson rising out of his chair to check his skin and pupils.

"Nothing's wrong!" Holmes attempted to squirm away. "Why would anything be wrong?"

Watson raised his hands. "I don't know," he said, smirking at Holmes's odd moods. "Nevermind. Continue, if you must."

 **2\. Compliment him.**

Watson leaned over to get a look at the scuffmarks that Holmes had been staring at through his glass, a fraction at a time. Holmes glanced up irritable when Watson moved into his light.

"Anything?" Watson said and obstinately refused to move. Lestrade was getting restless, then, Holmes expected.

"Initial results are always ambiguous," Holmes said. He looked back to the black marks crossing and gliding across the wood flooring.

He turned his magnifying glass up to Watson's nose when Watson hovered closer. "I say," Holmes said. "Your mustache is looking particularly lustrous today. I pronounce you a virile and healthy young man with excellent discipline and fine motor control."

"Er. Thank you."

Watson's huff clouded the glass, obscuring Holmes's object of interest, before he pushed Holmes away by his wrist irritably.

Holmes wiped it off on his sleeve with a grin. He bent over again and nudged Watson out of his way with his shoulder. "Out of my light, that's a dear."

 **3\. Let him catch you looking.**

The waltz Watson had been idly humming to himself halted with a grunt as he raised his arms to remove his vest. Lowering his shoulder a bit easier, he moved to unbutton his trousers, fumbling to tug his socks off with his opposite toes at the same time.

As he finished, turning to life his nightshirt, Watson met a pair of brown eyes, staring in from the darkness. He did not yell or jump, but turned to give Holmes less of a view from his skulking place in the doorway. "What is it?" he asked, some of his testiness making its way into his voice.

"I'm going out."

"You've never seen fit to inform me, before."

Watson frowned when he followed Holmes's line of sight to the mess of scar tissue on his hip and thigh. He took a deep breath, resisting the crawling of his skin and the urge to cover himself, sitting down with that side away from Holmes instead.

He exhaled when Holmes finally tugged the door shut behind him. Well, that was strange.

 **4\. Give him your complete attention**

"Holmes, you're really making me uncomfortable. Stop it."

Watson pushed Holmes away from him with a palm on his chestbone until he stumbled backwards into a chair. He retreated to his room without a glance backwards, shutting the door behind him with a solid click.

 **5\. Hold his hand**

Holmes sighed and pushed the meat around his plate disconsolately. A hundred individuals's coughs and whispers and shifting pressed against him as if in an echo chamber, the privacy tapestries and curtains everywhere perversely serving to amplify the human sursurrus of it all. He placed his chin in his hand and stared at Watson across the table.

"We can't leave yet," Watson glanced at him and murmured.

Holmes narrowed his eyes at him. He knew. He kept the couple they were watching in sight on the mirror around the corner of the pulled back tapestry. His view was obscured by two tables and a plant, but it was well enough to see that their target intended to dally there over their wine for a long while yet.

He refilled Watson's glass. He thought it reasonably possible that he could get Watson drunk in the meantime, and that at least would provide some entertainment. A distraction, even, if needed.

He glanced around them. Their waiter had long given up and was loitering just inside the kitchen. Everything was gaudy red and gold and be-tasseled, including the cloth on the table they sat at.

Holmes creeped his hand under the table, feeling, reaching. Watson startled a bit, his hand rising from his thigh when Holmes at last discovered it.

Watson swallowed heavily, his eyes absolutely riveted to the far wall as Holmes wove their fingers together and shifted his chair closer, making sure to keep the mirror still in view.

Holmes grinned, topping off Watson's glass once more as Watson and drained it. Watson's blushed, but his fingers were curled in an iron grip around Holmes's own.


End file.
